The Traitor's Plan
by AreiaCannaid
Summary: The one time Sir David was thankful for his son's sense of mischief: the events leading up to Gilan's apprenticeship with Halt.
1. Chapter 1

**The Traitor's Plan**

 **A/N:** I actually started writing this one some time ago, but wasn't really confident with it — in fact, I'm still not entirely confident with it. However, it wasn't doing anybody any good sitting unfinished and forgotten in a file so I finally gathered the courage to share it. Anyway, I did have a lot of fun writing it and dearly hope it proves to be an enjoyable little tale. I have planned for it to be about 3-4 chapters in length, so it's just a little short.

 **A/N 2:** I finally have read The Battle of Hackham Heath (yaaaay!) and so went through this story and changed things a little bit to keep them canon. I've not changed the overall plot, just added the occasional extra detail here and there.

 **Summary:** The one time Sir David was thankful for his son's sense of mischief: My take on the events leading up to Gilan's apprenticeship with Halt.

 **Disclaimer:** I have nothing but respect for John Flanagan's stories… I absolutely don't own anything, not RA, and definitely none of the characters or places therein. And I certainly do not profit from this in any way, aside from my own enjoyment — and hopefully the enjoyment of others.

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 **Chapter 1**

The moon was full; it lit up the sky with a quiet silvery glow that filtered down to dust the tops of the trees of the woods outside the castle. It bathed the ground in between the forest and the castle courtyard with a light that was exceptionally bright for being night. It made for a rather lovely view, Gilan thought from his position, or rather, perch, sitting casually in the large open windowsill of one of the upper towers.

The view from the window of this abandoned tower room was usually beautiful though, no matter the time of day or the season. There was always something new to see, something different, something intriguing. The world outside was always moving, always shifting, unpredictable and exciting. It was so very different from the monotony of Battleschool with its same repeated schedules, its same repeated drills.

He sighed softly to himself as he chipped away at the polished wood cane in his hands with his knife. He slowly whittled away at the middle so that it began to resemble two curved letter 'S's placed back to back, or perhaps the shape of a sand glass he had seen at an abbey once.

Glancing again at the moon, he felt a smile beginning to spread across his face. He absolutely loved the view from this spot. Though, it had to be admitted that just looking at the woods could never quite hope to match being in them.

He was not quite sure what it was about the outdoors that appealed to him so much, he thought as he continued to whittle away at the cane in his hands. It was the sounds: the babble of a brook, the hissing whisper of wind though pines, the rustle of grass and leaves. It was the appearances: always something new to see, to explore. But, most of all, it was the feeling of openness and freedom. There were no drills, no parades, and no strict rigor to every waking moment.

Heavens above, he was sick to death of the discipline of a soldier's life, of Battleschool. It consumed almost every minute of his waking hours. Every minute except for the few stolen moments of time he managed to snatch and hold to himself like some pathetic bandit. He sighed again as he put down the whittling knife.

He sat up then and hopped down from his comfortable perch to the flagstones that made up the floor. Cane still in hand, he headed to the furthest corner of the abandoned tower room. He did this so that the light wouldn't be seen much from outside as he struck flint to steel and lit a candle. Holding the candle and a stick of wax in one hand and the cane in the other, he very slowly and patiently began covering the section he had dangerously narrowed with the melted wax. He would let a layer dry and then build up another until the wax filled the space entirely. Some careful file work on the mostly hardened wax insured that there was not even the slightest join between the wood of the cane and the wax.

Being the son of the castle's Battlemaster had ensured that the life of a soldier, a knight in training, was all he had ever known. In fact, the moment he could hold a sword was the moment his basic training had begun. It was not that he disliked swordsmanship training, he thought as he continued working. In fact, swordsmanship practice — though it was nearly as wrought with discipline as everything else — had never been as stifling to him. He somehow felt freer when he practiced. He felt more in control of himself, his mind, and his decisions. This had been especially true ever since he had passed out of basic drill and begun studying under the Sword's Master Mac'Neil.

He should be grateful, he supposed as he set the cane and file down. He reached into the leather pouch he had brought with him. From it, he retracted the small paint bottles he had begged from the court painter and the small inkwell he had… _borrowed_ , from the one of the castle's scribes earlier in the day.

Yes, he should be grateful for that small blessing at least. Though advanced swordsmanship practice was definitely not any easier than drill, his days had brightened in their dullness considerably since he had started training under Mac'Neil. However, try as he might, he could not help but feel… discontented…

He uncorked the paint bottles and retracted a brush, also from the court painter, thinking.

He glanced out the still open window to see a world of stars as open and free as the woods. What would it be like? he wondered — and it wasn't for the first time. What would it be like to live like the Ranger's did? His father had become friends with one: a Ranger named Halt. He was the grim-bearded war hero of The Battle of Hakham Heath. During that battle Halt had, like his father, helped to save Araluen from the traitorous Baron Morgarath and his army of wargols. Gilan had actually worked with him then, helped him find a path to help the cavalry outflank Morgarath's wargols. In fact, that was when he first had gotten so interested in Rangers and the lives that they lived.

Even now, he would see Halt come and go, so mysterious, so adventurous. And he could not help but wonder what it would be like to come and go as he pleased, to live in the woods. Everything about Rangers seemed fascinating. They were surrounded with an uncertainty that whispered of adventure. Most of the common folk thought Rangers to be sorcerers. He did not really believe that, but people knew so little about Rangers that they seemed, at least to him, to be the most exciting thing in the world.

He leaned in close to the candle light and began painting the wax carefully so that it matched the rest of the wood around it. He blew on it gently to dry it when he was finished. He carefully inspected his craftsmanship — scrutinizing it for any flaws by rolling the wood slowly in his hands to expose all of it to the candle light and his critical eye. He felt a rush of satisfaction well up in him as he finished his inspection. A person would have to look very hard to tell the difference between the wood of the blackened staff and the wax that hid its weakened center.

He put the cane down and began putting his art supplies away with only the slightest flourish in his manner. It was at times like these that he quite fancied himself an artist of rather fair skill. There was no containing his self-satisfied and expectant grin. He leaned forward and blew out the light. Gathering the staff and supplies, he slipped silently from the room and down the tower staircase.

Though, by now, he was practically bounding on the inside with excitement and expectation, he knew better than to show it outwardly. To show it would be to destroy any attempts at stealth on his part, and stealth was what he needed.

When he reached the door that led out from the tower, he paused for a moment. So far, things had been easy for him. The hard part would be getting though the main castle, out to the guard tower, soldier barracks, and officers' quarters without being spotted. It was definitely against regulations for a Battleschool apprentice to be out after lights out — whether he was the Battlemaster's son or not.

Luckily for him, this was far from the first time that he had acted thusly. He knew the best routes to take. And being the Battlemaster's son, and a Battleschool apprentice, did make it so that he was privy to the guard rotation times and positions of those on the night watch.

He passed though the castle corridors carefully, moving with the shadows cast by the skittering clouds outside the windows, and avoiding the light cast by torches that lined the halls. He began to feel the familiar, terrifying and yet exhilarating feeling that was brought on by the fear of being discovered, the threat of the consequences if he were to be caught. All of it only added to the trepidation and the excitement.

There were a few close calls, but he eventually made it to the Drill Master's quarters. Gilan knew the man would be out tonight in a meeting with his father and the rest of his father's senior staff. This was exactly why he had chosen tonight to act. He inserted the key he had both _borrowed_ and used earlier, and opened the door. He gave one last backwards glance before padding softly into the room. Gingerly, he replaced the thin black wood staff back from where he had taken it. He backed quietly out of the room then and locked the door behind him. Only when he was safely out of the officer's quarters, did he allow his smile to return. By heavens he had waited so long for this opportunity.

If there was one instructor who added to all the unpleasant aspects of his life it was the Drill Master, Sir Gavin. He was an arrogant man with a fastidiously curled mustache. All too often he had taken a hand in making his, and the other apprentices' lives miserable with his non-budging attention to discipline and regulations. He had an inability to compromise on anything and he had high expectations and dealt out harsh consequences for all of them if any one of them failed to meet his standards — and even harsher consequences for the unfortunate one who did.

He also had a nasty habit of using that cane of his — what he called his swagger stick — to harshly point out a flaw in form or bring a student's attention back fully to him. The man was awfully fond of that cane, always waving it about when he gave orders... and, more importantly, leaning rakishly on it when he was delivering his lectures. Gilan, for one, couldn't wait to see what would happen tomorrow when the Drill Master would do just that as he gave the morning announcements.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he made his way towards the cadets' barracks, where he slept with all the other Battleschool apprentices. He crossed the open courtyard without incident. He had just come into clear sight of his destination when he stopped short.

The bright moonlight was reflecting off of the white of a first year apprentice's surcoat. The garment in question was currently in the hands of a figure crouching against the stone walls of the cadets' barracks. Gilan recognized him instantly as Thomas, a classmate of his.

He wondered what had happened to invite Thomas out like this. It was by no means early in the evening. Gilan had waited until his classmates were all asleep before slipping out — and that had been more than two hours ago now. The boy was crouched miserably over his surcoat, the expression on his face one of despair. As he watched, Thomas shook his head.

"No, no, no…" he desperately whispered.

It was then that Gilan began to have a guess as to what had driven him to stay out so late. Most of those who entered the Battleschool to train as knights of the realm came from noble or wealthier families. Thomas however had come from a family of merchants. They had managed to get the funds needed, and Thomas himself had gotten the recommendations needed, to attend. It was by no means an unheard of occurrence but, as it was, he was something of an oddity. And, unfortunately for Thomas, this made him quite a target to the less knightly cadets.

Gilan was rather something of an oddity himself. At just about fourteen he was very young for a first year, nearing a second year, cadet. This was allowed only because he had started so early and practically grown up in the Battleschool. In areas such as swordsmanship, tactics, and military history, he was probably far ahead of a typical second year. In fact, he often found himself bored in the academic portion of school. When it came to the physical side of things, the good thing was that he was tall for his age, which was helpful. Unfortunately for him though, was the fact that he completely lacked the fuller muscular build of most cadets. He had always been rather lanky.

His advanced swordsmanship and the fact that his father was the Battlemaster, generally made it so that he was left alone by the Battleschool's resident bullies, Rolland and Henry — unlike Thomas. Though that was a good thing, it did have its downside too. It served to keep him a bit apart from his classmates, he thought a little ruefully as he once again continued forwards. He felt a bit of kinship toward Thomas for that reason. Thinking of the two bullies Rolland and Henry, he was fairly certain that the two of them were behind Thomas's distraught state of mind this night.

Thomas let out a tortured sound that seemed a mix between a sigh and a puff of breath and leaned his head back against the rough bricks of the barrack wall.

"You sound happy," Gilan remarked softly from beside him.

Thomas jumped, having not heard him approaching, his body posture shifting to the defensive until he recognized him.

"Gilan, you startled me. What are you doing up past curfew?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, a cheery grin creeping across his face as he leaned casually against the wall beside where the bigger boy crouched. "You usually aren't the type to break the rules if you can help it."

"I wasn't doing it for the fun of it, if that's what you're getting at. I was trying to get this stain out of my uniform before drill practice tomorrow. I can't let Drill Master Gavin catch sight of it or…" he let the sentence hang unfinished, as he held up the cloth.

They both knew what happened to cadets who caught the displeasing eye of the Drill Master. In the moonlight, Gilan could see dark stains of what looked like some type of ink marring the surface of Thomas's surcoat.

"I've tried to get it out for nearly an hour now, but it won't wash out," Thomas's voice was almost despairing.

Gilan could see the scrub brush and bowl of now murky water and soap at the boy's side. He knew that Thomas's distress was rooted deeper than just displeasing the Drill Master. Battleschool was a hard school and those who couldn't cut it, or caused too many infractions, were sent home.

Gilan knew that Thomas wanted to be a knight more than anything. This wasn't the first time that some bullying prank of Rolland and Henry's had caused him like problems. He was already treading on thin ground and those incidences only made it worse. The customary time for first year cadets, who couldn't cut it, to be dropped before they started their second year was drawing near. An infraction like this could really hurt Thomas's chances of staying. The most unfair thing about it was that it wasn't even his fault.

"I take it those stains weren't put there by you," Gilan said finally, the seriousness of the matter causing his smile to fade.

"No."

"Henry and Rolland?"

"Yes," Thomas answered softly, wearily.

"You could report it," Gilan suggested, hopefully. "After all, it isn't the first time."

But Thomas was already shaking his head, "I don't need our commanding officers to think I'm any more pathetic than they do."

It was a partially fair concern. Gilan, for one, had no idea how their commanding officers would take such a complaint — especially when it came to such an unsympathetic and unyielding man as Sir Gavin. It was very likely that they would think that Thomas was just trying to make excuses for himself. Coming to a decision, Gilan began removing his own white surcoat.

"What are you—" Thomas began, but Gilan interrupted him.

"My place isn't as threatened as yours. A demerit would hurt me less than you," he said as he held his own surcoat towards Thomas with one hand and beckoned for him to trade with the other.

"But, Gilan…" Thomas began uncertainly. It was obvious by the flare of hope in his eyes that the offer appealed to him but, at the same time, he was loathed to let someone take a fall that should be his.

Gilan merely brushed off his protest.

"Though idiots like Henry and Rolland don't seem to get it, we cadets are training to be knights and knights work best when they work as a team. We're supposed to look out for each other, you know. Besides, if it really bothers you so much, just consider it you owe me one," he smiled mischievously at the boy in front of him. "You can pay me back later."

Hesitating, Thomas took the surcoat Gilan offered, exchanging it for his own.

"Thank you, Gilan. I won't forget this. If you ever need a hand, just ask."

"Will do," he replied cheerily, his grin widening, though he really had no intention of noting it down in his mind that he was owed a favor. That wasn't why he had done it.

The two of them then slipped quietly into the barracks. Gilan knew that his surcoat would probably be a bit too small for Thomas, and that Thomas's would be a bit too large for him, but it should work out fine. With luck, nobody aside from Henry and Rolland would know, he thought as he made himself as comfortable as possible on his bed and fell asleep.

He was up just before the call to wake the next morning, intending to return the ink bottle he had _borrowed_ the day before. He was not a thief, after all… well, not unless the item in question happened to be pastries from the castle kitchens. However, before he did so, he padded softly towards the Battleschool armory with the stolen ink bottle in his hands. Though he was willing to take the fall for Thomas, he'd be dashed if he was going to take it passively and let Henry and Rolland just waltz happily away. And those two bullies' arrogance and selfishness made it all too easy for Gilan to even the score a bit.

Both of them always insisted on taking the best training swords for themselves. They also had developed the incessant habit of wiping their sweaty palms on their surcoats during swordsmanship drills. It was a series of coincidences that left an opening far too great to miss, Gilan thought as he identified the two swords in question.

He carefully poured a good amount of the thick ink underneath the leather grips of both swords. The ink would not dry before the two used them. It would ooze slowly through the leather and onto their hands during drill. Once that happened, the two would then, Gilan was sure, wipe the ink straight onto their own surcoats without thinking and out of habit. Gilan would not be the only one to catch Sir Gavin's displeasure during drill.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you've a mind to, I really appreciate feedback. Let me know also if you have any suggestions or see room for improvement. I know this chapter was a little slow, but things will pick up next chapter. I hope you all have an amazing day.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Here's the next chapter! So, this chapter is mostly in Sir David and Halt's perspective and it starts to explain where the title came from. I hope you all enjoy.

 **TrustTheCloak:** Dawwwww :3 thank you for the compliment. Funny thing is that I've often wished I had your skill. Thanks again for the review!

 **TheRanger'sDaughter:** I noticed that too, I think it'd be nice if there were more pre-apprentice Gilan stories out there. Thanks so much for the review, I really appreciate it.

 **Guest:** Thank you for the review, and for the compliments, you totally made my day.

Also, special thanks to: **Blurby** , **Wild Horse Annie** , and **pennydragon** , you guys are awesome

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 **Chapter 2**

Sir David, Battlemaster of Caraway Fief, urged his battle horse around the trunk of a particularly large tree as he led the hunting party though the woods. It had been the popular opinion of his senior staff that he needed a break. He had not taken one in months and, according to the knights, he had seemed tense and distracted of late.

It was true; he knew he had been. He supposed that a break was in order. And he could not think of a better way to spend his day of leave then on a boar hunt. Though that was not to say that his mind was actually on the hunt at the moment, rather it was fixed on the problem of his son. He supposed that this was actually the cause of his distracted mind of late.

It really came down to potential. His son had the potential to be a great knight, possibly one of the greatest. But, for whatever reason, his son seemed to be doing anything and everything to avoid living up to that potential lately. Though that might be a bit too harsh of judgment; Gilan wasn't purposefully trying to sabotage himself.

For as long a Sir David could remember, Gilan had always had a spark of fun, or even mischief, in his eyes. From the moment he could move about on his own, he had had some plan of fun or mischief in his mind. Gilan had always had an affinity for not conforming entirely to a sense of discipline for want of freedom, adventure, and fun. During the war against Morgarath it had appeared that Gilan had grown out of that phase and embraced the discipline of a knight's life fully —as David had done when he was his son's age. However, that had seemed to wear off soon after the kingdom was once again at peace... and it appeared that it never would never be coming back at this rate. It seemed only to have gotten worse than ever before, and he was nearing his wit's end as to what to do with the boy.

At that moment, David found himself cursing that irrepressible cheek. He had never thought to really try and curb that affinity of his son's for well-planned mischief, curiosity, and sense of adventure, because he had always thought that it signified intelligence. And that was a skill that was necessary for an exemplary knight to have. Heavens knew some of the schemes his son had thought up were nothing if not intelligent.

His mind was immediately thrown back to the memory of the day, a couple years ago during a particularly long and hard winter, when his son had managed to rig the decorative suits of armor in one of the castle's corridors so that their heads turned when someone stepped on a tripwire — thereby terrifying one of the castle servants. It had taken a very long time to convince the poor woman that the castle was not, in fact, haunted.

Usually, Gilan's pranks had been far and few between, but they had picked up recently. He assumed that part of the reason his son was suddenly feeling it necessary to act out like that was due to boredom — a negative side affect of intelligence. He knew for a fact that Gilan grew easily bored with the monotony of drills. He also knew that he was bored with military history and tactics class.

As he looked back, he released with painful clarity, that this was partially his fault for starting his son so early. That fact, mixed with Gilan's ability to grasp concepts quickly, had put him ahead of where he should be. Gilan would probably have done better in third or fourth year academic classes, but David could not move him up any further. He was already too young to be a first year.

He even suspected, though he had no proof, that this was also the reason behind some rare but highly suspicious accidents that had happened of late: like ink bottles suddenly sticking to the tables in tactics and military history class, swords disappearing from the belts of tired therefore not fully alert sentries on patrol, to be placed point first in the ground beside them.

Though most of Gilan's pranks, mischief and sense of adventure were harmless, it was not to say that it didn't lead to problems, or cause some form of worry or grief. Chief amongst these were impromptu and unauthorized trips to the woods, ridiculous and rather dangerous challenges he had set himself to accomplish just to prove that he could—like the time he had taken it in his head to try and replicate a few of the feats he had seen trick rider acrobats perform during harvest festival. Or like the time he tried to make it around the castle perimeter without using the walkways but instead by balancing atop the battlements.

This last was actually something he had done about five years ago. He had done it at night and in secret because he knew he wouldn't have ever been allowed to do it had he made his intentions known or asked permission. David had only found out about it the next morning when Gilan had cheerfully and rather proudly announced his midnight escapade at breakfast.

There was also the time, much more recently, that Gilan had set himself the challenge of attempting to free climb the castle's towers. David had found out about that one before Gilan had had the chance to complete that self set challenge. He had forbidden him from going any further with that one; but that had not deterred his son from trying. The persistent boy had merely waited for him to get slightly distracted in order to attempt to trick permission out of him. And it had almost worked too. Sir David shook his head ruefully at the memory.

He had been busy trying to organize a new cavalry flanking tactic for a drill when Gilan had sided up to him, commenting happily on some various things that Sir David could not remember much now, as he had been concentrating hard at the time in order to finish his detail before the deadline. He had not really been fully paying attention, offering distracted replies when his son had said a pleasant farewell and started to leave.

 _"_ _Well,"_ Gilan had said in a by the by manner, " _I haven't climbed the south tower yet,_ " he had clicked his tongue off the side of his teeth, _"I think I'm going to go ahead and do it."_

To which David had responded with a distracted, _"Yes, yes, sounds fine."_ Only to be startled out of his concentration when the full import of his son's words had hit him. He had only just managed to grab him by the back of his tunic before he reached the door.

 _"_ _You most certainly are not!"_

This had eventually led to the almost habitual mantra that he added to almost every farewell he gave his son whenever he saw him off.

" _And, if you would, please at least try to be worthy of my trust."_

To which the answer was invariably the same.

 _"_ _Will try, but won't promise!"_ called back cheerily over his shoulder with that near ever-present grin of his.

It wasn't that Gilan was purposefully trying to bring him grief or grey his hairs, he knew that. Mischief or no, if he knew one thing for sure it was that his son had the heart of a true knight and the courage to mach.

Though his position as the Baron of Caraway's Battlemaster, and his subsequent duties, did not give him the luxury of being a typical father who was always there for their son; though he may have always been a bit strict and had pushed Gilan hard to be a knight and follow in his footsteps, he loved his son. He genuinely wanted what was best for him.

As David thought on it now, he realized that, whenever Gilan managed to get some free time away from classes, he hardly spent any of it training, or with the other cadets. Instead, he spent it working in the stables, out riding or hiking in the woods, or doing other similar things. In fact, he had never really seemed fully passionate about being a knight's apprentice — and that feeling seemed only to have grown instead of waned.

Gilan had seemed, for lack of a better word, discontented. It was very slowly becoming apparent that his son did not share his own childhood ambitions, and most noble boys' desires, for knighthood. He knew that this was something he really to address.

He really needed to discuss it with Gilan, and come to a solid decision about what to do about it. He knew that he was probably going to have to be stricter and crack down on his son's behavior. In fact, he had known it for quite a while now, but had been putting it off. It was because he had the disconcerting suspicion that more restrictions might cause Gilan to rebel more, rather than conform. He urged his horse around another tree trunk and reached a hand up to stoke his beard in a thoughtful manner.

"Thinking about your son again, sir?" the voice of his lieutenant, Robert, said from slightly behind and to the side of him.

"That obvious, eh?" He turned to face the man, a slight smile on his face.

"With respect sir, you stroke your beard whenever you think about something that's troubling you," Robert said, returning the smile. "You know, leaving on a hunt to take a break from your troubles only works if you don't bring them with you."

"I seem to recall that you were the one to come up with the idea of my son meeting me out here later after his class gets out."

"That's true sir," Robert admitted a little abashed.

"That doesn't sound like leaving your troubles behind," David pointed out.

"Trouble itself? Gilan is not that bad sir," another of his knights chimed in from behind him, inviting himself into the conversation. "I rather like the lad."

"I'm glad to hear it, Edward; would that I could say the same of you." He shot the knight in question a baleful look. Said knight only grinned in return.

"So you did inform Sir Gavin to tell Gilan to meet you later this afternoon then?" Robert asked and David nodded. "Permission to speak freely sir?" he suddenly requested.

"Granted," David replied, eyeing the man curiously.

"I know it's not my place to say, but I'm sure whatever's going on between the two of you will work out easily enough if you talk it out."

"Besides, if you keep up only thinking on it the way you do, you'll wear your beard down to nothing," Edward put in, most unhelpfully.

"Yes, thank you for that." He gave Edward another look before turning to face forwards again, trying to get his mind back on the hunt. "I'm sure you're both right."

"I only wish I had the chance to talk to my son before…" Robert spoke softly, wistfully, and then trailed.

Sir David turned towards his lieutenant again, his eyes sympathetic.

"He was a good soldier and he served his country well," he replied softly. Robert's son had died during the battle of Hakham Heath, during the cavalry charge that turned the tide of the battle. "He saved many lives. I was proud to serve with him."

"Thank you, sir," Robert said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

He cut his eyes to the side and seemed about to speak again when Edward caught sight of game. Thoughts thoroughly diverted, the five in their party turned to pursue it.

 **~x~X~x~**

There was something that was not sitting well with Halt. It was an intangible feeling of disquiet, a gut feeling. He had spent years honing his instincts and they had never let him down in the past — and he doubted they would do so now. He had a feeling that something was off.

However, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on that could justify this feeling, so far as he could tell. Instincts, no matter how helpful, were all circumstantial and vague. There was no purpose in getting worked up without concrete proof that something was amiss. And, as he had just thought earlier, he had no such evidence. Decided, he put the matter to the back of his mind — though, he did not dismiss it. It was better to assume trouble, and be disappointed when none came, than to be surprised by it.

Perhaps his uneasy feeling was due to the fact that his most recent mission had only been mostly successful, rather than totally successful. He did not like leaving things unfinished. He had been in Caraway fief to work with the Ranger there to put down a large group of thieves and thugs that had grown to be a problem.

He and the other Ranger had managed to apprehend most of them. But a small group of about a dozen of them had eluded capture. Halt suspected that they had found employment somewhere and had been on their trail when he was recalled; Crowley, the Ranger Commandant, had sent him a message saying that he was needed elsewhere to act as an escort to a rather pompous nobleman.

Consequently, Halt had been obliged to give the meager intelligence he had managed to gather to the Ranger of Caraway and had begun his return journey. He was fairly certain that the other Ranger would have the matter well in hand. No, his feeling of unease was most likely due to his own reservations about leaving loose ends.

Knowing that he would pass by Caraway castle on his way to the southeast road, he had decided to make a quick stop in order to pay a visit to his friend, Sir David, before he left the fief. This was mostly because he always liked to stop by and visit David whenever he was in the area. (It was also partially because he was putting off his meeting with the pompous noble for as long as he could, within reason).

He had arrived fairly early that morning only to find out that he had just missed David. The knight had set out with a hunting party moments before he had arrived and would not be back until evening. Thinking back now, Halt realized that this was the exact point in the day when his feeling that something was amiss had really begun to bother him.

It had to be due to his reservations about the escaped thugs, he decided now, because there was nothing at all that had happened at the castle that could be considered out of the ordinary… well, not completely. The memory of what he had seen earlier that morning made his mouth twitch upwards fractionally at its corners — his equivalent of a wide grin.

Having had nothing better to do while he waited, he had fallen back into his old habit of silent observation. He had watched the inhabitants of the castle go about their usual business, whilst he remained undetected, thanks to his Ranger's skills. He had seen Sir Gavin, the Battleschool's Drill Master, giving three first year cadets a severe dressing down for not taking proper care of their uniforms.

The lankiest of the three he recognized as Sir David's son, Gilan, whose surcoat, apart from the stain, was entirely too big for him. He'd had occasion to watch the boy a few times before, not to mention the brief time they'd spent together during Morgarath's war, and there was something about him that Halt found... tolerable, he supposed. He was a bright cheerful lad. On top of that, Halt had to admit that he had a fair skill at unseen movement, and a good sense of curiosity — two necessary skills for Rangers. He was also a good deal more intelligent than the typical bash and whacker. When it came to fighting ability he was fast and precise. In fact, Halt had found himself thinking on several occasions that, if he weren't already training to be a knight, the boy might have the potential to be a Ranger, and a good one.

Sir Gavin had delivered a roaring speech of condemnation aimed at the three of them, all the while waving around that cane of his that he was so fond of. His rant had eventually died down into the beginnings of what would have been quite a lengthy speech about discipline and its merits, had it continued. However, he only got a small way into it before he was cut abruptly short.

He had just started in about his own days before being knighted, placing his cane down like a staff and leaning upon it — in what he would have termed a dignified and rakish manner — when his words were very suddenly interrupted by a soft cracking sound as his precious swagger stick snapped in half. The unfortunate Sir Gavin's speech had ended, quite suddenly, as he overbalanced after losing the support of his cane. He was sent sprawling into the dirt of the parade ground to the sound of the cadets' smothered laughter.

Sir Gavin had gotten quickly to his feet and attempted to cover his humiliation with bluster but the damage had already been done. Halt couldn't say that he hadn't found the whole ordeal amusing. Sir Gavin was a decent man but he did have the tendency to be more than a little pompous sometimes.

Halt's eyes rarely missed anything and, as he thought back to it now, he could not help but think that he had seen a rather expectant look on Gilan's young face just moments before the incident. Halt shook his head gently, that almost imperceptible smile returning. It would probably be for the best for David to keep a close eye on that son of his.

He was still thinking on it when he heard none other than Sir Gavin approaching him from behind; the man's cocksure stride wasn't easy to miss. He turned to meet him.

"Sir Gavin," he greeted, inclining his head fractionally.

"Halt!" Gavin called back, reaching out to shake his hand. "Where the devil did you spring from? Come to see Sir David, did you?"

Halt nodded. "I did."

"You just missed him I'm afraid. He's off on a hunt at the moment and not going to be back until this evening."

"So I heard."

Gavin nodded acceptance of that fact. He was of the opinion that there was hardly anything that Halt didn't know. In fact, the Ranger was one of the only people who had his genuine respect. He felt his face brighten as he got an idea.

"Come to think of it, I believe Sir Robert planned the route. He probably left the map in his room. I can get it for you and you might be able to see if you could perhaps meet up with them. I'm sure that would be preferable to waiting for him here until nightfall. Also, I'm fairly certain Sir David would be pleased to see you earlier as well." Gavin beckoned for him to follow him as he continued on, "It will have to be quick, the academic portion of the day, and likewise my break, is almost over."

Halt nodded and followed after Gavin as he led the way to the officers' quarters.

"It's been a rather trying day for me today, to say the least," Gavin was saying in that pondering, arrogant, way of his.

"I noticed that you seemed to think that you needed to be better acquainted with the parade ground," Halt could not help but admit with only the slightest trace of humor in his voice.

Gavin flushed slightly.

"Apprentices… take my advice and never get yourself any," the knight said. "Hellions the lot of them, with no respect for regulations or discipline. After close inspection of the matter, I have come to the conclusion that my little incident today had nothing to do with petty mischance. Take a look at this _craftsmanship,"_ he said as he drew forth the two broken halves of his swagger stick from his belt and passed them to Halt.

 _Craftsmanship indeed_ , Halt decided as he looked carefully at the break.

"It is rather skillful," Halt said dryly, passing the broken cane back to its owner.

"Skillful maybe, but it is a completely disrespectful act of sabotage against a senior officer. I am fairly certain of the perpetrator too. There is only one First Year I can think of clever and brazen enough to pull off a stunt like this. He is going to be brought to account for this blatant and willful act," he said, his tone growing cold.

He would have said more but they had arrived at Sir Robert's quarters. Sir Gavin unlocked the door for him and directed him to the plain desk in the far corner of the room, before bidding Halt a hasty farewell.

Halt easily found the route map in question, memorizing it before he placed it back where Robert had left it. In so doing, his hand brushed against Robert's writing kit, knocking it slightly askew. He was about to right it when he caught sight of the corner of a piece of paper that had obviously been placed, or hidden, underneath the kit. Curious, he withdrew it and unfolded it. The paper was dirty and worn and the handwriting on it was crude and spidery, very unlike Robert's precise script.

 _Our terms are agreed. Bring the payment and we will meet at the Oakly ford crossing. My men will be in place before afternoon Tuesday._

 _-Bramwell_

Halt stared at the cryptic scrawled missive and the oddly familiar sounding name at the bottom. Today was Tuesday and, according to Robert's route map, Oakly ford was where the hunt's rendezvous point was. The possible implications of ' _our terms are agreed_ ,' and ' _bring payment_ ,' and the fact that this Bramwell was going to be ' _in place'_ before Sir David's party was due to meet there, were not lost on Halt.

His friend could very well be walking into some sort of ambush, or could have already done so; it was already afternoon. The sinking feeling taking root in the pit of his stomach only grew when his mind suddenly placed the reason why the name Bramwell had sounded so familiar. Bramwell was the name of one of the thugs in the large group, that he and the other Ranger had just put down, that hadn't been captured.

It seemed that he had quite possibly stumbled upon the root of his earlier off feeling. Though all his reasoning was based purely on conjecture and assumption, he was fairly certain that his friend was in danger, and his instincts told him that his reasoning was right.

 **~x~X~x~**

Sir David had just arrived at the rendezvous point with Edward right behind him. Their hunting party had split up sometime during the day and so the two knights had arrived in the clearing near the Oakly ford late in the afternoon as planned. He looked around and spotted Robert standing near his mount on the far side of the clearing. His lieutenant raised a hand in greeting. The two approached him and dismounted also.

"Where are James and Percy?" David asked, noticing the absence of the two knights who had gone with Robert.

"They decided to head back early; James wasn't feeling well," Robert replied. "I gave them leave and decided to wait for you alone."

David nodded his understanding and then studied his lieutenant. The man was far more tense than usual and seemed to be avoiding his gaze. David took a step forwards, intending to ask Robert if something was amiss when his sharp eyes caught sight of motion in the trees behind his lieutenant. His hand flew immediately to his sword hilt and drew his blade.

"Bandits!" he called to his two men, "Fall in!"

His two knights turned to see the threat and immediately fell in behind him. David's experienced eyes quickly took in the numbers and formation of the enemy as they sprang from cover and ran at them with weapons drawn. There were about twelve all told and they were advancing in a rather poorly coordinated basic flanking maneuver. He wondered briefly why a group of bandits would think it worthwhile to attack three knights, but put that aside as he focused on trying to find any possible way to counter their unexpected foe.

"Edward, Robert, stay close!" he ordered swiftly, "Organize into standard formation six, we may be able to-"

His orders were cut short by a cracking sound and then a thud, coming from directly behind him. Turning his head, David saw Edward sprawled on the ground unconscious. However, before he even had any real chance to act or think, he felt the cold touch of steel at the side of his throat, jabbing into his flesh.

"Drop your sword, _sir_ ," Robert's voice rang out coldly from behind him, whilst the thugs crated a circle around them both.

Surprise mixed with horror inside him; and those emotions froze him for a few terrible moments.

"I don't really want to kill you, David, but I will if you don't lower your weapon now."

Anger suddenly vied for a place amidst the horror and surprise.

"And what do you intend, _lieutenant_?" he spat, stressing the title.

Though he could hardly bring himself to believe it, Robert, a man whom he had trusted was a traitor. For a few fleeting moments, in his anger, he entertained the idea of making a move against Robert, of trying to fight his way out of this. But he had not risen so high in the ranks by ignoring reason and letting his emotions rule his head. Though he might take a good amount of his enemies with him, he knew that any attempt to break free would be suicide.

Very slowly, he released his vice-like grip upon the hilt of his sword. It clattered dully to the ground near his feet. One of the bandits quickly kicked it out of reach.

"On your knees," Robert's voice menaced as the sword point pressed harder into him. David felt the stinging prickle of blood as a small amount of it trickled down his neck. He sank to his knees and offered no resistance as the bandits tied his hands behind his back. Edward's unconscious form was similarly tied, his weapon also kicked far out of reach.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. I really hope this one wasn't boring; I just had some things that I needed to set up. Feedback is always appreciated. If you have the time or inclination, let me know what you think. I hope you all have an epic weekend!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Here is chapter three everyone. This one's a little long, but I eventually decided that, if I tired to break it in half, each half would be too short, so decided to leave it as it was. XD Thanks again for reading. I hope you enjoy.

 **Guest:** I'm glad to hear that all the different perspectives worked out well together (which is much better to hear than: 'it didn't work') XD Thanks for the complement and the review!

 **Blurby:** I'll see what I can do. I love pranks too XD Thanks for the review, I really appreciate it.

 **TheRanger'sDaughter** : *throws confetti* you win the guessing prize! I'm not quite sure exactly how far I will be going with this, but I see what I can do. Thank you so much for the review!

 **TrustTheCloak** : If all goes well you have the answer to that question in a moment X) I'm glad you like it so far. Thanks for the review!

 **pennydragon** : Sorry about the cliffhanger… I hope you can forgive me, and hope that this chapter can help make up for it. Thanks for the review!

 **Dragonslover98** : I'm glad you liked it, I was a little worried about that since we know so little about David. You'll get the answer to that this chapter. Thanks for the compliment :)

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"I don't understand what could ever be worth giving up everything you had just to join with them," Sir David growled. "Your position, your honor, your knighthood, your comrades, your loyalty to your kingdom and your fief? And for what? What price did they promise you that could possibly be worth that?"

Robert said nothing, his bearing as tense as before.

"It's not too late," David tried changing tack. "You can still do the right thing."

Robert turned around then, his face flushed with anger. "But, to me, this is the right thing! You see, I didn't join them, as you put it; they joined me. I paid them, gave them the location of this rendezvous point—all to get you!" he practically yelled as he towered over his captive before turning away again.

The admission chilled David. To find out that a man he had trusted had decided to work with lawbreakers against him was bad enough, but to hear that this man was actually the instigator of this attack was almost unfathomable. It made him feel sick. It had only been moments ago that he had considered this man a friend.

"Why?" he managed to choke out when he found his voice.

"Because of what _you did,_ that's why!" Robert whirled to face him again. "You speak of giving up everything… I have already lost everything I cared most about! What I give up now is a fair cost to get some peace. You were the tactician behind the cavalry charge that cost my son his life! You were his commanding officer; which makes you responsible! He was my only family, all I had left, and he died because of your orders! And for what?"

David stared up at him. "They were my men and they died following my orders, implementing my battle plan, it's true—and I've never ignored that. But every one of them knew the risks and was willing to take it. We all took it. All of us were willing to die for our kingdom and for our families, to protect them. It was never for nothing... and your son... I would have given my own life to save him, to save all of them if I was able, but I wasn't. I never would have led them into battle if there were any other way, but there wasn't. And I'm sorry for that too."

"You say you feel his loss? You can never feel his loss as I have!"

"No I can't," David whispered, "and I won't cheapen yours by pretending that I do. But believe me when I say that I am sorry, sorry that it happened, that he died carrying out my orders, sorry that I couldn't save him or the others, sorry that the whole damned war happened in the first place," he said, every word sincere.

"You don't know how it feels, but you will! I have waited so long for a chance to get revenge, a chance to make it right. For so long I've pretended that I wasn't hurting, that I didn't hate you, and that I didn't blame you for what happened!"

"So what do you intend? Do you plan to kill me? Will you kill Edward too?" David asked, cool anger, defiance, pain and pity mixing oddly in himself and his manner, making his words straggly calm, strangely clear. "It won't change what happened. It will only add two more casualties to a war that should have ended years ago."

"I'm not going to kill either of you. I want justice not murder." Robert said quietly. "Your son will be on his way here about now," he continued slowly after a brief pause, "on his way to meet with you."

David suddenly felt his heart freeze and then sink into the pit of his stomach as he began to grasp the implications of what Robert was saying.

"No," he wanted to scream the word across the space between them, but it came out as little more than a whisper.

Robert merely ignored it as he spoke on.

"The very moment he arrives is the moment you will pay for what you've done! After all, an eye for an eye… a son for a son."

"Robert!" The cry sounded from behind him and hardly sounded human in its wrath. David turned numbly to see Edward struggling furiously against his bonds and the two bandits who held him, his blond hair hanging tangled in his face. He had obviously woken in time to hear Robert's plan. "You traitor! I will kill you for this! If you so much as touch the lad, I will-"

"Silence him," Robert ordered angrily and a bandit winded the protesting knight with a vicious kick to the torso that knocked him flat. "Gag them both and take them into the trees so they won't be seen by any approaching riders. But I want you to make sure that they will have a good view of the clearing. Secure them so they won't escape. His son should be here any moment now."

The two knights were hustled back into the tree line. There was nothing David could do but watch as, only a couple of moments later, a rider dressed in first year cadet white made his way up the shadowed road and towards the clearing. Dread and horror filled him, as he realized that his son would ride straight into Robert's trap, and Robert would kill him to satisfy some lost and twisted lust for revenge. Gilan wouldn't stand the slightest chance.

The thought of his son lying lifeless in that field…. Tears of pain and frustration filled his eyes even as anger and desperation galvanized him into action. He began to struggle with everything he had against the men that held him, against his bonds. He tried to get the gag free of his mouth so he could call out, shout a warning, anything to stop this.

He couldn't let it happen. He wouldn't let it happen. He noticed that Edward was trying to break free as well. However, all of their efforts were to no avail. David watched with despairing eyes as the cadet rode, oblivious to the danger, straight into the clearing.

David's heart seemed to stop and then sputter to a start again with the smallest needlepoint of hope. The cadet heading towards Robert wasn't his son. It wasn't Gilan. Instead it was a member of his class: Thomas, his name was.

Seeing no one else in the clearing but Robert, the cadet stopped his horse and saluted.

"I have a message for the Battlemaster, sir… is he around?" his voice carried fairly clearly to David's position.

Robert shook off his momentary surprise and stepped forward. "He's not, but I can deliver a message."

The cadet nodded. "Sir Gavin wanted me to inform the Battlemaster that Cadet Gilan will not be able to meet with him at the appointed time as planned. He was found in negligence when it came to the care of his kit and uniform, and he is also suspected of being involved with an incident of minor sabotage of a senior officer's property. Sir Gavin has him running the twelve kilometer course with a full pack as a consequence. He won't have enough time after he's finished to meet with the Battlemaster before lights out."

Sir David felt a flood-tide tentatively hopeful relief rush through him. He began to breathe again, not having realized that he had been holding his breath. In that blessed moment he found himself, quite for the first time in his life, praising the heavens above for his son's irrepressible sense of mischief—for at that moment it truly seemed a blessing. To think he had just spent the hours before cursing those very aspects of his son's character. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

He opened his eyes again, focusing back on the clearing. Robert seemed fit to explode with anger. For a moment David's concern was all for the safety of young Thomas. Robert however, quickly gained control of his emotions.

"I'll be sure to inform him," he said through partially gritted teeth.

Thomas looked a little uncertain of Robert's reaction, but he saluted again and wheeled his horse around to ride back the way he had come.

David cut his gaze to the side to meet that of his fellow knight. Edward's eyes seemed to practically twinkle with gratitude for this turn of fortune and also with something akin to pride. _Trust that lad of yours to never led you down when it matters_ they seemed to say, teasingly.

His attention was diverted by Robert swearing explosively as soon as the young cadet was out of earshot. The traitor knight stalked towards the tree line.

"There is going to have to be a change of plans. Keep them here while I go and fetch the brat myself. I'll compensate you for your time," he assured the bandit leader who nodded his agreement after a pause.

Robert mounted his horse then and rode out of the clearing in the same direction the cadet had taken earlier. The situation was a dire as it had been before, David knew. But, now he had something that he did not have before, and that was time. Even the smallest amount increased his chances of finding some way to stop this. One glance at the knight beside him told him that Edward felt the same.

 **~x~X~x~**

Halt had just left the castle, riding at a canter down the forest road when Abelard gave a warning whinny. Almost simultaneously, Halt caught a motion in his periphery just around the bend in the road. Whispering thanks to his horse, to let him know he had gotten the message, he eased Abelard into the thickets just off the path with the slightest touch of his heel.

He opted to remain unnoticed now, out of caution, and for the same reason he had not sought help from any of the knights at the castle. He already knew that one knight was involved and he had no idea how many others were, if any. And he did not have the time to try and find out. He would risk more than failure if he asked for help from the very people who were in on the scheme. He would risk the same if any news got out of his intentions.

From his position, he saw three first year cadets running along the path with full packs, followed by a mounted senior officer. All were heading towards the castle. He recognized the three as the ones who had been reprimanded earlier for not taking proper care of their uniforms earlier in the day. They were obviously doing some sort of punishment run, he thought as they passed.

He was about to urge Abelard forwards again when they rounded the bend, but his horse let out another quiet rumbling warning sound. Halt looked back to the road and saw another mounted knight. The man seemed to be trailing the other officer and the three cadets, Halt saw as the rider paused at the bend in the road. The man dismounted and checked around the curve before remounting and heading forwards. Completely suspicious, Halt stared intently at the man's face. His frown deepened as he recognized him as Sir Robert.

Halt hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow him. Obviously, he was already too late to stop whatever ambush the man had set up in the forest; he tried to bury his feelings of dread at the thought. His best bet now would be to follow the traitor knight, he knew.

Silently, he urged Abelard out of the thicket and back towards the castle. When he reached the edge of the woodlands, he dismounted in order to present a less conspicuous target on the open lands. He gave Abelard the stay signal. Wrapping himself in the folds of his Ranger cloak, he made use of its concealing camouflage.

When the group of disgraced cadets reached the castle yard, the senior officer gave the reigns of his mount to Gilan to take care of for him—likely and extra punishment. Then the officer and the other two cadets went into the training yard. Gilan was leading the horse to the stables when Robert made his move, urging his own horse forwards in order to intercept the apprentice. Halt moved forwards then as well, as close as he dared, and strained his ears to listen.

"Cadet Gilan," Halt heard Robert call.

The apprentice in question turned swiftly, standing at attention, the battle horse's reigns still in his left hand.

"Sir?" he asked.

"There's been an accident. Sir David has fallen from his horse during the hunt."

Halt felt his eyes narrow at this, wondering exactly what sort of game Robert was playing. Gilan's face paled considerably.

"Is he alright, sir?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly with worry.

"It was a bad fall," Robert said slowly, solemnly. "Your father is asking for you, he wanted me to take you to him."

Gilan hesitated then, his brows furrowing slightly. Indecision seemed to mark every line of his body. He cut his eyes to the side towards where the senior officer who had been supervising his earlier run could still be seen. Robert followed his gaze and guessed at the reason behind Gilan's hesitation.

"Don't worry I will speak to the Drill Master and instructors upon your return. You will not be disciplined for leaving your post. But you have to hurry; Sir David wants you immediately."

Halt watched Gilan intently, wondering what he would do, waiting to see if he was falling for the story that Robert was telling. For the briefest of moments, Halt thought he saw Gilan's eyes narrow slightly. But perhaps, Halt thought, he'd only imagined it. Gilan offered Robert a tight worried smile.

"Thank you, sir," he said as if that was indeed the reason for his hesitation. He turned to mount the horse he had been just about to lead to the stables.

Robert nodded and the two set off at a canter, Gilan following after. Halt followed as well, retrieving his own horse as soon as he reached the forest path. Very carefully, he began tailing the two riders. He made sure that he would not be seen by them by staying one bend in the road behind them. As they went on, he began to feel certain that they were heading to Oakly Ford: the rendezvous point he had seen marked on Robert's map.

In fact, he knew that as soon as he passed the next bend in the road it would be a straight shot to the clearing. Halt had no idea what Robert had done with Sir David, or what he was planning to do with Gilan, but he quite intended to stop the man before anyone was harmed or, he winced at the thought, before anyone _else_ was harmed. Deciding he could no longer afford to let Robert stay too far ahead of him, and knowing that people generally felt more secure when they were nearly at their destination and were, therefore, less likely to look back for this final stretch, he made the command decision to break cover and follow as closely as he dared.

He did so and could just see the two riders ahead of him, moving though the dappled shadows of the tress that hung overhead like a green tunnel of branches and leaves. Gilan was still riding a few meters behind Robert. Halt felt a slight twinge of disappointment at the sight; obviously, all Gilan's thoughts were consumed only with worry for this father, for he seemed oblivious to the danger he was in. Robert obviously had had a fair idea of what story would trick the boy. Gilan had swallowed the bait readily it seemed… Then again, perhaps not, Halt realized with quiet approval.

As he watched, he saw the boy in question stare intently at the man ahead of him, and then look just intently around at the trees that grew along the path. He glanced once more at Robert's back before slowly shifting his position in the saddle so that he was crouching on it, rather than sitting. From there, he very carefully began to stand upright, balancing precariously on his perch as he tried to shift his balance to match the horse's jolting stride. He did not keep that awkward position for any length of time however. He leaped up from the saddle to catch a hold of a branch hanging lower than the others whilst the horse he had been riding continued onward without him, obediently following after Robert's steed.

Gilan hung perilously by his arms from the branch for a moment before he managed to pull himself upwards. His unexpected action was not a moment too soon for Robert and the rider-less horse had already passed through the door of light that marked the entrance to the clearing. Gilan made his way rather easily across the tree bow to the trunk and then down to the ground. From there, Halt watched as he melded, with fair skill for an apprentice knight, into the tangle of brush just off the path.

Some inexplicable sixth sense, mixed with a fair amount of experience told Halt to get off the road. He eased Abelard into the concealment of the brush several meters behind where Gilan had entered just as Robert, now in the middle of the clearing, chanced a look behind him.

 **~x~X~x~**

Sir David watched with increasing dread as he saw two horsemen approaching. He stole a glance towards Edward who was tied to the tree next to the one he was tied to. A failed escape attempt had rendered them thus. They were now much more secure than they had been before. Sir David cursed the failure, not only because of its ill favored results, but because they had come so close to getting away before they were apprehended again.

He felt a nightmarish sense of familiarity as once again he was forced to watch, helpless, as his son would ride straight into… He gritted his teeth, burning eyes fixed upon Robert as he came into the clearing before he moved his focus to the other rider, his heart threatening to burst in his chest.

He blinked. There was no other rider. It was just another horse with an empty saddle. It was in that moment that Robert turned around to look behind him. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head with incredulous fury. He swore loudly for the second time that day. Obviously, the saddle had not been empty from the start.

The bandit leader Bramwell, David had learned his name was, stepped out of the tree line once he too saw the empty saddle.

"Couldn't find the brat, eh?" he demanded roughly, his hands on his raged, grubby, tunic. "What'll you do now?" he sneered.

Robert dismounted, facing the bandit just as furiously. "The blasted boy gave me the slip. He can't be too far away. We can get him quickly."

Bramwell looked piqued and muttered something David couldn't quite catch.

Robert rounded on the man. "I don't care how long it takes; I need it done!"

"All this fooling around weren't what we agreed on! I'll need more'n extra pay for 'em."

"Fine!" Robert snapped. "Just help me find him!"

"I want 'em two knights," Bramwell insisted with peevish and single minded persistence. "That'uns the Battlemaster himself, if I'd heard you right. I could get lots for him from the Baron to get him back."

"Fine by me. You can do whatever you want with them, _after_ ," he stressed the word, "a _fter_ I get the boy!"

Bramwell nodded to ten of his men to come forward. "We'll find the boy." He nodded again and paused for a moment. "But I'm havin' a bit of thought myself."

Robert looked irritated at this intrusion but turned to face the bandit none the less.

"My idea's this…"

If it weren't for the gag, David would have cried aloud. Almost faster than the eye could follow, the bandit drew his heavy bladed dagger and drove it into Robert's chest. Wide eyed with horror filled surprise, Robert stared aghast at the bandit even as he sank to his knees.

"That I could be get'n more all told, if'n I just take the money you brought for us and then find the boy myself," Bramwell spoke on, staring down unfeelingly at the crumpled form of Robert who lay before him on the ground. "There'd be much to be got from him, I warrant, him bein' the Battlemaster's son an all. That way, I get paid three times. And if'n the Baron's hesitant to pay, I'll kill that other knight to show I'm serious."

"You traitor," Robert gasped from the ground, utter hatred glittering murderously from his eyes.

"Loyalty's never part of my agreements. I do what 't takes to get what I want, you should understand't." Bramwell sneered back.

Robert spat at him, his breath coming in broken gasps before his eyes slipped closed and he lay still.

David watched as Bramwell started shouting orders to his men to fan out to find the boy. He found himself desperately wishing he could free himself. The situation he was hardly any better than it had been before; all their lives were in just as much danger.

As if in answer to his silent wish, he suddenly felt something tugging at his bound wrists. Somebody was freeing him. The ropes pulled free along with the ones that tied his middle and his legs to the tree. He stepped away from the tree, grateful for the unexpected rescue, and also grateful that he had not been tied long enough for his circulation to have been seriously cut off—otherwise he might have fallen.

Searching for his rescuer, he turned to see none other than his son moving stealthy to untie Edward as well. Elation, pride, pent up nerves, and worry brewed an odd feeling in his chest, but he pushed it aside. There would be time enough for that later when all three of them were out of danger. Now he needed to secure their freedom, and get them all away safely. Catching Edward's eye, he made a hand motion towards the backs of the two bandits that had stayed behind to guard them. Edward understood the message and the two of them moved forward, intent upon knocking out their two captors.

David bent to pick up a convenient stone and brought it crashing down upon the head of the guard nearest him so that he fell unconscious to the ground without a sound. Edward attempted to do likewise, but some primal instinct of danger must have assailed the bandit for he turned, saw Edward, and managed to cry out loudly before the knight sent him sprawling next to his companion.

The bandit's yell was heard by his followers who were just on their way to search the woods for Gilan. As one, they turned towards the sound and saw their prisoners escaping. Led by Bramwell, they charged to intercept the knights and cadet.

Both knights were weaponless and the young apprentice was armed with nothing but his wooden training sword. Gilan did already have his own cavalry sword but, when he was drilling with the other cadets, it was policy that he should carry the same weapons they did. Their enemy was gaining fast and outnumbered them about three to one. Things were looking grim. However, David had noticed earlier that none of the bandits had any ranged weapons. Such being the case, he decided that their best course of action would be to run.

Stooping to gather the two swords of the bandit guards, he gave the order to flee. He passed the extra sword to Edward as they ran—all the while keeping one hand on his son's shoulders, shepherding him forwards. Though that was not really necessary; Gilan's face was a pale, but he managed to easily keep pace with them, taking two strides for their every one.

David knew these woods fairly well and so knew of a spot that was enclosed by rocks on two sides and thick brush and a deadfall on the third side. The only easily accessible entrance was about four meters of open land. If they could make it to that spot, then they would have a chance to defend against so many, possibly their only chance. As they ran, he shouted his intentions as well as concise directions to his two fellow escapees.

It was relatively safe to say that there were very few times that Gilan had felt as terrified as he was now. His day had gone from a typical school day to a life or death situation in a matter of moments. It was true that he spent much of his life purposely seeking out mischief adventure and even a little danger because he enjoyed the thrill that came from pushing at the boundary of ordinary and mundane. But there was admittedly a fairly big difference between thrill and actual terror. This was no game and the stakes were his life, the life of his father, and Sir Edward.

For a moment, his rising sense of panic threatened to claim his senses and mind—so there was little room for anything else but that fear. It screamed though his body and numbed all his thoughts except for the urge to flee. That was until he heard his father detail a location and battle instructions. He immediately understood what he had to do. Having a clear course of action placed before him gave his panic filled mind something substantial to grasp at, something enough to pull him completely out of that fear.

"Now!" his father shouted, and Gilan leaped into action.

 _"What should you do when you are unarmed an enemy is chasing you?"_ He remembered his father asking him once during their lunch break on a hunting trip when he was about ten. _He had sighed, resigned, at the time, wondering why a break could not just be a break when his father was concerned. There was always and forever some lesson or concept pertaining to being a knight that his father felt he had to teach._

 _His father had not given him the chance to reply and had instead pushed him forwards as he pointed to the woods._

 _"Go, run! We'll go through this together. The best way to learn is by experience."_

 _"But, dad can't we—"_

 _"I said to run."_

 _His father had made a shoeing gesture. Gilan, shrugging to himself and smiling faintly, had run—this wasn't really anything out of the ordinary after all: yesterday there'd been a talk about tactics at dinner, the day before a lecture on the knight's code, and the day before that and impromptu sparing match to brush up on sword techniques. His father had started after him as he ran, instructing him all the way._

 _"Keep your speed up for a while and then, if you are able to get some good distance between you and your attackers, you need to change your course constantly, unpredictably, until you either lose him, find cover, or a defendable area! Don't give a straight path to you! You'll be easier to catch and find if you move predictably. Weave!"_

Gilan wove now, zigzagging though the trees as he split off slightly from the comforting presence of his father and Sir Edward. The two knights in question were doing the same as he, giving their pursuers no clear idea of whom to chase, no clear paths to their targets, and no clear idea of their ultimate destination.

Though he kept his motions though the trees as unpredictable and sporadic as he could, Gilan kept the clear directions his father had detailed to the forefront of his mind. He was a fit and active boy, but even he was breathing hard by the time the spot his father had spoken of came into sight.

He arrived only about fifteen meters behind his father and Sir Edward, who yelled for him to hurry, beckoning him forwards. Once he reached them, both of their arms shot forward and practically dragged him behind them, behind their line, and into the relative safety of this alcove. The bandits were not far behind.

He saw his father and Sir Edward take up positions to hold the gap of the dell. That way, Gilan saw, the bandits would only be able to come at them two or possibly three at a time. He stayed behind them as they began to defend the gap. Edward was a good swordsman, at the very least a match for any of the bandits, and his father was a sword's master.

For the first time since the chase began, Gilan began to feel his heart start to calm down slightly. But then he quickly shook himself free of that false sensation, going on the alert, training sword held ready in his hand.

 _"Can you tell me what one of the most important tactical things there is for a battle leader to remember, whether he is leading an assault on a keep or defending it?"_ His father had asked him one morning at breakfast. He had shaken his head, not knowing the answer his father wanted.

 _"It's that there is no such thing as an impenetrable keep. Never assume that there isn't a way in, and never let a false sense of security lull you into complacency."_

Gilan's eyes swept across their small sanctuary now and came to rest on the deadfall just in time to see several bandits scrambling over the rough unsteady logs that created the rather flimsy barrier to their right.

"Dad!" he called, not liking the way his voice squeaked slightly, "they're coming over the deadfall!"

Before the words were finished tumbling out of his mouth, one of the bandits, who had made it over the jumble of fallen logs unseen by Gilan as he came at an angle, was on him. Though Gilan didn't know it, the man was none other than the bandit's leader Bramwell.

Bramwell was a highly skilled swordsman. He swung his sword down in a vicious overhead strike. For a moment, all Gilan could do was stare wide eyed as the sword descended. His wits scattered momentarily for the second time that day, because of the unexpected nature of the attack.

However, his arm seemed to posses the intelligence his mind had forgotten and brought his own hardened wood sword up to block the strike. The impact jarred his arm horribly, but the bandit's sword was successfully stopped in its tracks. The man disengaged, ripping it free from where it had bit into the wood and nearly wrenching it from Gilan's hands. Once his sword was free, the bandit tried again with a sidestroke but, once again, Gilan's sword went up at the right moment—this time to deflect the blade to keep it from sticking in his hilariously inadequate wooden sword. After that first surprise attack, he had managed to collect himself and was now able to get the measure of his opponent, and control of the fight.

The five years he had spent drilling and training had drilled the basic sword maneuvers into his muscle memory so that every one of his movements was almost an instinctive extension of himself. He was reminded then exactly how all the mind-numbingly dull hours he had spent drilling did have an actual worthwhile purpose; it had just saved his life. Though it did not make him hate it any less, he remembered and acknowledged its usefulness.

He knew what he was doing, how to counter and block his enemy's attacks successfully. He was well able to hold his own against his attacker. He knew, however, that his success could not last for very long, he was using a wooden drill sword after all. Also, he could see more of the bandits beginning to make their way across the deadfall. That glance, quick as it was, nearly cost him his head. He only just ducked in time to avoid another of his bandit's sweeping sidestrokes.

"Father!" He yelled again as he fought, "five more have made it across!"

At his cry, David cursed and began to issue orders to Edward.

"When I give the word, stand back to back with me to fight off the ones who have made it inside! Now!" he ordered suddenly.

Edward turned in a sweeping half-circle as David stepped to the left so that they were back to back. As Edward turned he caught Gilan's attacker, a nasty cut to the leg. Bramwell yelled in pain and fell to the ground, dragging himself awkwardly away from the field of combat and Edward's flashing sword.

It was then that Gilan saw that they were in trouble. Without Edward to help hold the breach with his father, the bandits saw the opening and began to swarm their position. Skillful as Sir David was, Gilan knew enough of tactics to know that he would not be able to hold them off for long. Edward had his hands busy too. His sword was up and ready to challenge the first of the four who were making it over the deadfall. Gilan moved back so he stood against the rough stone wall of the alcove just behind his father and Edward. He held his sword ready to try and help either of them defend. His heartbeat seemed to pound in his ears as he realized that, despite their efforts, they were going to be overwhelmed.

Suddenly, he caught sight of motion in his periphery. He turned towards the spot just in time to see a King's Ranger seemingly appear out of nowhere inside their alcove on the leftmost and outermost edge of the deadfall. Somehow the Ranger had crossed the deadfall, where the brush grew thicker, without anyone seeing him. And it wasn't just any Ranger, Gilan saw as he recognized him, it was Halt.

Gilan watched with awe-filled eyes as an arrow seemed to appear on the Ranger's bowstring as he drew, sighted and fired in the mere blink of an eye. The five bandits who were in various stages of making it across the deadfall went down one after the other under a rain of arrows. Gilan had seen many an archer at the castle but he had never seen once as fast an accurate as Halt.

The Ranger discarded his bow then, in favor of the two knifes that he carried in that odd double scabbard that hung from his belt. Some of the bandits had made it past David to enter the dell. They were too close to the tiny group of defenders for Halt to risk shooting at them, Gilan knew.

Halt engaged one of the bandits who had made it through. The man swung an overhead strike at the Ranger. Halt simply blocked the stroke with nothing but his two knifes. The Bandit's sword was stopped dead by the Ranger's crossed blades. Quicker than the eye could follow, Halt withdrew the smaller knife from the block and plunged it into the bandit who fell with a cry. But Halt was already moving past that man to engage another.

This one stamped his right foot down as he thrust at the Ranger. However, Halt simply used the lager knife, his saxe, like a short sword and deflected the blow to the right as he closed the gap between them. Almost simultaneously, he reached out with his left hand to grab the rough man by the collar of his jerkin and dragged him close, off balance, and completely unable to make use of the reach of his sword. The Ranger then swung the heavy pummel of his saxe into the man's head. His eyes rolled upwards and he fell limply to the ground. Halt was side by side with Sir Edward and Sir David now; the two knights were already engaging the last remaining bandits.

Suddenly, Gilan saw the bandit he had previously dueled with, the one Edward had knocked out of the fight with a leg wound, rise up behind the Ranger. The man's dagger was upraised and ready to plunge into the Ranger's unprotected back. Some inexplicable instinct must have alerted Halt to the danger behind him, for he turned, saxe upraised ready to meet it. But, before he did, Gilan, having seen Halt in danger, had rushed forwards with a cry of warning on his lips. He brought his training sword down with great decision upon the bandit Bramwell's head.

The hickory blade of his training sword, already weakened by its time coming up against a real sword, couldn't take any more pressure. It snapped in half as Bramwell fell unconscious to the ground.

Gilan thought he saw Halt nod once at him, something like quiet approval shining in his eyes before he turned back to help his father and Sir Edward subdue the last of the bandits. By that time, however, most of the remaining men were already starting to surrender.

"Halt!" David greeted as soon as he was able, "I'm not sure how you came to be here, but I am glad that you were. I don't think I ever been more glad to see you in my life."

He inclined his head deeply at the bearded Ranger. It was a simple but genuine show of heartfelt gratitude.

"I'm glad I made it in time," Halt said, returning the nod, "although, I should probably be the one thanking you for finding the bandits I've been after for me."

David shook his head with a rueful smile.

"I'm glad I could be of help. It was just the thing to liven up my break," he said, glaring angrily at the unconscious Bramwell.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Halt said, the barest ghost of a smile touching his face before he went to help Edward secure the remaining bandits.

David turned towards his son then, filled with a huge sense of relief and gratitude at the fact that he was safe, alive, and unharmed. He saw Gilan standing almost frozen over Bramwell, his broken sword held in a crushing two-handed grip. His eyes were wide and staring at the break, yet not actually seeming to focus on it. For a sinking moment David feared his son was suffering from battle-shock. Though battle-shock usually afflicted soldiers after their first experience with actual combat, David knew from experience that it could affect anyone at any time, even veterans _—_ and Gilan certainly, though he was fairly experienced for his age, wasn't a veteran.

"Gilan?" David asked tentatively, and then felt relief as his son responded to the sound of his name.

"I think I am going to need a new sword," he said blankly, looking from the ruined weapon to his father's face and smiling wanly.

David smiled too then and put an arm around his son's shoulders. "I see to it that you get one."

Gilan let the broken sword fall from his fingers as he turned fully into his father's arms, feeling the beginnings of tears of relief building up behind his eyes. Then he felt his father's arms encircle him back.

"So, dad, did you have anything else planned for today?" he asked impishly, grinning.

Sir David shook his head at the words, feeling a smile threatening to spread across his own face in turn. "You did well, Gilan," added quietly.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks again for reading. As usual, feedback is appreciated; also, don't hesitate to let me know if you see mistakes or things that could stand to be improved. There is only going to be one chapter left I think, and I'll have it out as soon as I can. I hope you all have an amazing day!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I couldn't seem to fall asleep last night; so, thanks to insomnia, I got this chapter ready a little earlier than expected. Here it is then: the last chapter! Thank you guys for all the support, it really helps.

 **pennydragon:** Yes, that's when he decided X) Thanks so much for the support and the review. I do have some other RA ideas rattling around in my head, so there's hope XD Thanks again.

 **IncomingAlbatross:** I do actually like Phsyc (it's awesome!) And yay that you caught my little reference/nod to it XD But, truthfully, I actually really didn't mean to put any of Shawn into Gilan. If anything, it was actually Sir David's character that struck me as being similar in certain aspects to Henry's character when I read RA; so I thought to Henry's character as a little bit of an input point. David always seemed like such a super-dedicated knight that I thought some of the ways they might act could be similar. ;) I'm glad you like it though and think it's believable. Thanks for the review!

 **Guest:** Dawww *bluhes and dies of embarrassment* that's so nice of you to say. I agree with you about Gilan XD That will definitely be in this chapter. Thank you so much for the review and for the compliment, I really appreciate it.

 **TrustTheCloak:** Thanks :) writing kids (despite not being much older than one myself) is usually a little trickier for me, so I'm glad it worked out this time. I like Dad/David too. Thanks for the encouragement and for the review.

 **TheRanger'sDaughter:** I'm glad you liked it. Well, I thought that Gilan had to have learned those moves from Halt so, I just had him use them XD. Thanks for the review, you totally made my day.

 **Dragonslover98:** I love Halt coming to the rescue XD He's my favorite character. Thank you for the compliment and for the review, it brightened my day considerably.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

"What I don't get," Edward said as the two knights, the Ranger, and the cadet were leading the captured bandits back to Caraway, "Is how you knew that what Robert said was a trap?"

The question was directed at Gilan who, at his father's urging, had been explaining how Robert had lured him from Battleschool. The young cadet in question looked genuinely puzzled for a moment.

"He said my father was badly injured and that he wanted to see me. He didn't really try very hard to make it believable." he shrugged, and then, seeing Edward's still puzzled look, elaborated. "If my father was badly hurt in an accident like that, he wouldn't ask for me, he'd ask for his men at arms or his senior officers. Also, dad's the highest ranking knight in the castle. If it was true, Robert's first duty should have been to inform the Baron and the senior staff, not me. It's standard protocol, after all."

Sir David exchanged a quiet glance with Halt. Gilan spoke as if such regulations were common knowledge among cadets; but David knew that probably less than half of first and second year apprentices knew it. In fact, David hadn't really been sure that Gilan had been paying enough attention to know it himself. To add to that, David was fairly sure that not many of the cadets that did know it, would have been able to put two and two together as quickly.

"Because of that, I knew he was after me for some reason," Gilan went on. "I thought it might be easier to escape from him later if I pretended I didn't know," he finished, making it all sound fairly simple and unimportant.

"How did you know when to give Robert the slip?" Edward asked then.

Gilan smiled a little sheepishly. "It was nearing the spot where I was supposed to have met dad, so I guessed, sir."

Edward laughed. Gilan stole a glance to the left and slightly downwards, albeit a little nervously, towards the Ranger who sat on his smaller mount. Gilan had always been more than a little in awe of Halt. Though he knew the rumors of sorcery were untrue, Halt had always seemed to verge on uncanny. And what he had seen Halt do today only added to that awe. He dearly wanted to know how Halt had managed to show up just in time—but was a little too afraid to ask him. Now however, the Ranger caught his eye and Gilan thought that he saw that same fleeting, quiet, look of approval again. For some odd reason, that look filled him with the same sense of accomplishment and pleasure he felt when his dad offered him his rare words of praise—if not more so.

 **~x~X~x~**

While his dad, Sir Edward, and Halt went to the Baron in order to deal with the captured bandits and the whole incident, Gilan led his borrowed horse back to the stable. He knew that he was already very late in reporting back from his run and late in taking care of the horse of the senior officer. He removed the horse's tack and gave it a measure of grain and water before giving the animal a rubdown.

It was in doing that simple familiar task, that he had done so many times before, that he began to feel an odd sense of happiness welling up in him. He was alive, and so were his father and Sir Edward. It all could have ended so much differently, he knew. Yet here he was, still here to do the everyday task of rubbing down a horse. For some reason, it seemed almost funny to him. He patted the horse's neck, chuckling softly. When he was finished and left the stall, shutting the door behind him.

"Cadet Gilan, stand to!"

He froze instantly at the harshly shouted command and then stood stiffly to attention, turning to face a very red-faced Sir Gavin.

"Sir," he greeted cheerfully.

Life was fragile and uncertain and he had just decided that this meant the good bits of it needed to be noted and enjoyed all the more because of it. Today was a good day to be alive, he thought. So he included the man in his smile. He was quite willing, at that moment, to share his unreasoning sense of happiness with anyone—even a person as dour, humorless, and severe as Sir Gavin.

But the Drill Master seemed even less interested in pleasant greetings than usual. Gilan's smile faded as the man closed the distance between them with several quick strides and towered over him. The expression on his face admittedly made Gilan want to take a couple steps backwards. He had seen the Drill Master angry many times before, but never quite to this extent.

"Five infractions in one day! In all my years as an instructor I have never had another cadet make so many in one week, let alone one day. What the hell were you thinking? To make matters worse some of them are totally intolerable matters like sabotage!" He flung his broken swagger stick down to land with a ringing crack at Gilan's feet.

"Such behavior from a knight or man at arms would result in their immediate court-martial! It is a beyond serious matter!" The Drill Master glared down at him, obviously expecting some form of reply.

"With respect sir, can you prove that it was me who sabotaged your cane?" Gilan asked blankly, in a vain hope that, if the answer were no, he might eek his way out of that one. He wasn't quite ready to give up his happy mood yet, if ever; also, he was curious to know the answer.

"What?" Sir Gavin spluttered, taken completely off guard by the unexpected question. "Of course I can't prove that it was you," he said, drawing himself up to his full height and putting his hands behind his back.

"Then how do you know for sure that it was me, sir?" he asked, assuming an innocent expression.

Sir Gavin floundered angrily for words; even more enraged that before at the young cadet's impudence, his unmitigated daring. He was also angry because he had no proof and he knew it. At the same time, he was in no mood to bandy words with a mere cadet, or play games.

"Well," he stammered, blustering, "did you?"

Gilan looked up into the man's angry eyes and felt a sudden inclination to lie, before he shook it off rather despondently. He had been hoping that Gavin wouldn't ask that. He might bend the truth here and there but he could not bring himself to flat out lie to his commanding officer's face.

"Yes, I did, sir," he admitted finally, very quietly, after a heated silence. The happy feeling was quickly shrinking away.

Gavin all but exploded with rage at that. "Then why waste my time with stupid questions?" he roared. "I suppose that the stain on your tunic wasn't put there by you either?" he demanded sarcastically.

Gilan hesitated. It was obvious that he was in deep trouble, and telling Sir Gavin that it wasn't his surcoat might lessen it some, but this time he shut his mouth. He didn't want Thomas to get in trouble. Hearing no answer, Gavin spoke on, listing off his offenses.

"You failed to take care of your kit, you sabotaged my property, failed to report back after your run, stole your senior officer's horse, and were absent without leave!"

He closed the distance further until they were practically face to face. "You are the Battlemaster's son. You are supposed to be an example; but instead you do the opposite. Your actions bring nothing but shame to your father's good name.

"You, cadet, are a negligent, disrespectful, disobedient thief. You have a complete disregard for authority and honor. If you continue on in this manner, you will never amount to anyone worthy of respect and will have absolutely no place among the ranks of honorable men!

"This time you have gone too far and I have had enough. I am going to call for an immediate hearing in order to discuss your fitness to stay in the Battleschool! Am I understood?"

For a moment, Gilan stood frozen. This was not the first time he had been dressed down, but it was admittedly the worst, and it wasn't exactly fair all things considered.

"But, sir-"

"I asked you if you understood cadet!"

"Yes," he managed to gasp.

"Yes, what?" Gavin roared.

"Yes, sir," Gilan said, miserably.

His jaw set in frustration. He might have been able to take it with much more aplomb if it had been a fair assessment and had he not already gone though a rather trying day where he, his father, and another knight had almost been killed.

To add to all of the frustration, what Sir Gavin had said, hurt slightly. And because all his defenses had already been considerably battered today, the frustration and the hurt were magnified more than they might have been under other circumstances. To his shame, he felt the beginnings of tears prickling his eyes and his throat beginning to burn ever so slightly.

All his previous joy at being alive and pride at having earned his father's and the Ranger's approval was slowly shriving away. To be dropped from Battleschoool… he could hardly think of anything more shameful. He hated Battleschool, it was true; but he didn't want to quit in disgrace, he didn't want to fail. He sometimes felt that he had to work twice as hard to maintain good marks as a normal cadet because he shared none of their passions or drive for knighthood. To be dropped after putting in that much effort, and that much time, was almost unbearable.

In that moment he knew he didn't want to know what his father would think of all this. Sir Gavin seemed to blur ever so slightly out of focus as Gilan flatly refused to let himself cry in front of him. He forced his expression to go blank as he wished for this all to be over; but Gavin wasn't yet finished. He drew breath to add to his tirade when he was suddenly interrupted.

"Calling for his dismissal would be unfortunate," a low calm and slightly accented voice said from behind Sir Gavin.

The Drill Master whirled around to face the intrusion and his anger died substantially when he saw that it was Halt.

"What do you mean?" Gavin asked.

"I mean it would be unfortunate because this cadet here has a fairly decent excuse for at least three of those offenses—such as being kidnapped," Halt said blank-faced, before he explained what had happened to Sir Gavin. When he was finished, the Drill Master took a pace back with shock.

"Why wasn't I informed of this matter?" he demanded.

"Sir David just sent me to find you actually," Halt replied. "He is calling for a meeting of all his senior staff as we speak."

Gavin seemed almost to deflate. With only the slightest bluster still left in his manner, he turned back to Gilan. "Halt has informed me that I spoke without full knowledge," he said uncomfortably. "I regret being hasty with my judgment." Then he cleared his throat. "Though you can consider it a warning should you think to continue on in such a manner," he added severely, gesturing towards his beloved and broken swagger stick.

"Understood, sir," Gilan said.

He no longer felt like nearly crying, all he felt was relief. He bit his lip in an attempt to hide the new smile that was threatening to break across his face. The Drill Master had been after him before for smiling at inopportune moments such as during drill parades or when he was supposed to be standing at attention. His hidden smile was in part a smile of relief and gratitude for the grim-bearded Ranger's timely intervention. It was also in part a smile of amusement at Gavin's deflated bluster; it was, admittedly, a little funny. As soon as Gavin's back was to him he no longer tried to hide the grin. He inclined his head towards the Ranger in silent but heartfelt thanks.

"Also, in regards to his surcoat," Halt said slowly. "It isn't his. It doesn't even come close to fitting him properly. My guess is that he swapped with another student."

"But why?" Gavin asked.

"Perhaps the student in question was also threatened with being kicked out of Battleschool," Halt said meaningfully.

"It's true, sir," Gilan put in, once again awestruck of Halt's observation and reasoning skills—and also slightly sheepish at having been found out. "And it wasn't his fault either. Some other students put it there deliberately so he would get in trouble. He was afraid to report it because he thought you'd just think it an excuse, sir."

"And which students put it there?" Gavin asked, growing angry again, but not at Gilan this time.

"My guess would be the two other students that had stains on their surcoats today," Halt said and Gilan nodded confirmation.

"Rolland and Henry," Gavin said to himself, not looking too surprised. "I'll be sure to look in to that."

"I think that would be a good idea," Halt agreed.

"We'd better report to the Battlemaster," Sir Gavin said, making as if to leave. He had just made it to the door of the stables when he turned back. "It would probably be best if you were to report to your quarters; it's late, cadet."

"Yes, sir," Gilan saluted and headed off towards the cadets' barracks in the two men's wake.

He was out again several hours past lights out though, stealthily wandering the battlements. Part of him had known that it wasn't at all wise to be willfully breaking rules so soon after Gavin's warning threat. He had definitely pushed his luck too far of late. He, however, hadn't been able to sleep. He had far too much energy still and, besides that, he needed to clear his mind. That was not something that could be easily done in the confining presence of so many others. He needed to be alone for that.

He stared out over the battlements and towards the forest. So much had happened that it seemed hard to believe that it had all only occurred several hours ago. It seemed longer. For the first time in a long time, he found that he really and truly understood the purpose and usefulness of all the things his father had taught him, and all the things he had learned at Battleschool. He had a vague thought that this newfound understanding should suddenly make him feel a surge of new purpose and re-dedication to Battleschool. And, if by the off chance that that didn't do it, then Sir Gavin's threat that he should be removed from Battleschool should have served in its place.

But the truth was that he didn't feel any different that he had before. He was still sick of Battleschool, sick of the rigor, the never ending protocol, the discipline. In fact, the more he thought on it, the more he realized that he didn't want to be a knight. He wanted to find something that was his, something he could really strive for, something that would excite him.

His thoughts flew towards Halt and what he had seen him do today—his skill, his cunning... Gilan didn't want to be a knight; he wanted to be a Ranger and live like they lived. He wanted to know what it would be like. He wanted to know what they knew. He had never been more curious or passionate about anything before.

The only problem was that he didn't really know how to become one; he only had a vague idea about approaching the Ranger Commandant _—_ and he knew he was still too young for that. And all that aside, there was a bigger problem... he didn't know how he would ever tell his father. After all, his dad had been teaching him about, and training him in, the ways of a knight for as long as he could remember. Sighing, he looked away from the comforting presence of the woods and began to stealthily make his way back to the cadets' barracks.

On his way however, he passed by a sentry who was obviously half asleep while on watch. A grin spread across his face as he debated silently with himself. Then he shrugged and altered his course. He moved instinctively with the shadows until he was standing at the man's left side. He reached a gentle hand towards the man's sword belt: his motions slow, careful and patient. Soon he was gripping the sentry's weapon by the hilt. He paused, glancing at the guard. The man had not even come close to becoming aware of his presence. With a practiced motion, Gilan drew the man's blade from its scabbard.

The soldier shifted slightly, but did not respond, or register Gilan's light touch enough, to actually pull him from his half-sleep. Once the sword was in Gilan's possession, he carefully planted it point first into the timbers of the battlement's walkway. He put it very close to the man's side so that, if there were an emergency and the soldier reached for his blade, it would be near enough to his sword belt for his hand to come into contact with it.

Silently, he moved away, chuckling softly to himself as soon as he was out of earshot. His smile brightened substantially as he caught sight of another sentry. Finding two half-asleep guards in one night was a rare and fortuitous occurrence indeed.

 **~x~X~x~**

Sir David and a small contingency of his knights and men at arms were returning to the castle in the very early hours of the morning. They had just finished the task of burying the few bandits that had been killed several hours previous, and Sir Robert. Sir David felt a hand of sorrow grip at his heart when he thought of the traitor knight and his failed and misguided attempt at revenge.

He entered the castle gates and put his horse in the care of the bleary-eyed stable boy. Having done that, he decided to take a walk around the battlement in order to clear his head. He knew would not be able to sleep otherwise.

He had lost one who had once been a good man, and that saddened him. It saddened him also that he had been so oblivious to the festering hatred that had grown in Robert until it had been too late for both of them. He found himself wondering then: if he had noticed sooner, could he have done something to stop it all?

But then he shook his head. There was no use bandying thoughts about what ifs and perchances. No amount of wishful thinking could ever change the past. All one could ever do about the past was remember it, learn from it—so that it would never repeat itself—and move on. That view and knowledge didn't make it hurt any less, but there it was. He had lost a good knight. He probably would always regret that, regret that things couldn't have turned out differently. At least, he thought sadly as he stared at the stars, at least Robert would be at peace now.

He sighed and looked away from the pinpoints of light that lit up the black sky and tried to shake his head free of dark thoughts. As he continued on his way, he felt a slight hope beginning to take root inside him. He had lost a good knight today but perhaps he had also gained a good knight. Perhaps that afternoon's experience might have reminded his son the value of everything he had tried to teach him—the value and duty of a knight—even when the kingdom was at peace. Perhaps this was the push that he had suspected that Gilan might need in order for him to grow out of that sense of mischief, so that he could focus and apply himself fully into the training of a knight.

He caught sight of one of the wall sentries ahead of him and felt all his high hopes suddenly dashed. _On the other hand_ , he thought darkly to himself, _perhaps not_. It appeared that Gilan couldn't even wait until morning before he was back to his usual tricks.

He made his way over to the soldier in question and stood in front of him. The man jumped slightly and then moved to make a hasty salute.

"Sir."

"Have you seen anything worthy of report," David asked mildly and the guard in question shook his head instantly.

"All's been quiet up here, sir," he said.

David frowned slightly. "And you're sure you've been fully alert for you whole shift, I suppose."

"Of course, sir, I've been wide awake and alert…" the soldier trailed off slightly as he followed his commanding officer's gaze to see his sword standing point first beside him, its tip buried in the timbers. "Damn," the sentry muttered despondently at the sight, knowing that his inattentiveness would most likely end up giving him a week of extra duties, (not to mention the extra time he would have to spend re-honing the point on his sword as well).

 **~x~X~x~**

Halt was heading back to Caraway Fief about a week later after having finished escorting the pompous nobleman. His purpose for returning so soon was in part due to a desire to see how the business with the bandits had cleared up. But mostly it was out of a desire for some worthwhile company—after having spent so many days in the presence of that pompous nobleman. He was let through into the castle without question and he took Abelard into the stables.

Another reason he had come to see sir David was because he had been hoping to get his friend's advice, or at the very least his opinion, on a problem that had been bothering him of late. Crowley had been, for lack of a better word, _nagging_ him lately to find himself an apprentice. It was something that every Ranger had to do sooner or later—especially since the Corps had been so weakened by Morgarath and his rebellion. And Crowley had reinforced that request a couple days ago when he had finished his escort mission.

Halt wanted to hear David's opinion because he was not quite sure of his own thoughts on the matter. He had been putting it off because he was unsure, and because he had not yet found the right person be his student. Taking on an apprentice would be a huge responsibility as well as a huge undertaking. If he was going to take on one, he didn't want to dedicate that much of his time and life to someone sub-standard. He needed someone that… his thoughts trailed as he crossed the castle yard.

Sir Gavin was directing the cadets in close order drill. He caught sight of Gilan and frowned slightly. The young cadet didn't seem to be really focused or dedicated to the drill at hand, if expressions and body language were anything to judge by. In fact, Halt had never really seen him seem to enjoy or find passion or purpose in his knight's training. However, Gilan's despondent expression changed slightly when he caught sight of Halt.

Halt had long since become used to seeing fear and even suspicion in the eyes of most Araluens. But Gilan's eyes weren't like that, and they never really had been. There was only ever awe, respect—and, today, something that seemed to whisper of desperate hope, burning curiosity, and longing all at once. Then Gilan slid his gaze away from Halt in an almost shifty manner. It was in a manner Halt had often seen men do when they were planning or debating whether or not to act. Halt had a sudden suspicion that he knew what was on the young cadet's mind.

Soon Halt was passed the yard. He pursed his lips slightly in thought as he once again felt David's son's eyes fixed on him, now that his back was turned. He had always thought that Gilan possessed many of the skills necessary for a Ranger. He was intelligent, curious, had a good head when it came to combat and he had a natural instinct for unseen movement. With proper training, those qualities could be honed even further. Not only that, but, during the bandit incident, the boy had even tried to save his life. He realized then that he would be willing to act on this suspicion of his, despite a few niggling feelings of uncertainly. The boy was a little mischievous and highly energetic after all; he would be more than a handful. Even after he finally found Sir David, his mind was still occupied with those thoughts.

"Halt, I didn't expect to see you so soon," Sir David greeted with a smile. He reached out to clasp arms with the Ranger.

"I wanted to see how you were coming along with the bandit incident. And I wondered if I might have a word with you."

David's expression seemed to tighten a little.

"The bandit incident..." He sighed. "The ones we captured are on their way to trial, and we had a memorial for Robert about four days ago."

"For Robert?" Halt raised an eyebrow. "I seem to recall that he betrayed you."

"Yes," David agreed, sounding pained, "he did. But he was a good man once, and a friend. You can't fault me for choosing to remember him for who he was."

He was right there, Halt couldn't fault him. In a way, he felt he understood. A moment of silence passed between them before David broke it.

"But enough about that, you wanted to speak with me about something?"

"Yes. It's about Gilan."

"Ah," David said, frowning slightly. "I don't know what's gotten into him this past year—and it goes further than his general mischief and fooling around. I don't know what to do about it. It's not that he isn't doing well in Battleschool; it's just that he isn't doing his best or trying to reach his potential. I wish there was some way I could spark some focus, passion, and a sense of discipline in him." David confided, looking towards the grizzled Ranger as he waited patiently to hear what Halt was going to say.

He did not have long to wait. When Halt finally spoke, he found himself feeling a mild sense of surprise.

"I have a feeling that, when I leave today, Gilan is going to try to follow me…"

 **The End**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading! If you have a mind to, let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome, it's one of the only ways we learn and grow after all. I hope this proved to be an enjoyable little diversion, and that everything seemed believable and in character. I also hope that you all have amazing weeks.

 **~ATGTJ~**


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